About

n.

1. a. A single metrical line in a poetic composition; one line of poetry. b. A division of a metrical composition, such as a stanza of a poem or hymn. c. A poem. 2. Metrical or rhymed composition as distinct from prose; poetry. 3. a. The art or work of a poet. b. A group of poems: read a book of satirical verse.

Accounts

December282010

The Cinnamon Peeler

If I were a cinnamon peelerI would ride your bedand leave the yellow bark duston your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reekyou could never walk through marketswithout the profession of my fingersfloating over you. The blind wouldstumble certain of whom they approachedthough you might batheunder rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thighat this smooth pastureneighbor to your hairor the creasethat cuts your back. This ankle.You will be known among strangersas the cinnamon peeler's wife.

When we swam onceI touched you in waterand our bodies remained free,you could hold me and be blind of smell.You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other womenthe grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.And you searched your armsfor the missing perfume.and knewwhat good is itto be the lime burner's daughterleft with no traceas if not spoken to in an act of loveas if wounded without the pleasure of scar.

You touchedyour belly to my handsin the dry air and saidI am the cinnamonpeeler's wife. Smell me.

November202010

You Can Ring My Bell

Do you like making spoons in bed?
Or do you do it on all fours like beasts
Perhaps in the style of the missionaries
Or does she straddle you like a monkey on a stick?
Is she animated when you’re at it?
Thrashing about a lot
Or motionless like a resuscitation doll
Maybe you have her with trembling knees against a wall?
Mounting her roughly from behind
What about the wheelbarrow?
Have you tried that position?
Maybe bondage or spanking is your thing?
Do you play two way family favorites?
Kissing the inside of her milky white thigh
Before drinking from the velvet cup
Does she enjoy performing orally?
Is her behavior quite low, morally
Base and sluttish
Or is she prim and proper
Prudish about being rude-ish

Maybe it’s not what you do but who you do it with
Vampish or tarty, dumb or smarty
Clear complexioned or spotty
Level headed or dotty
Intelligently spectacled
Scantily clad in edibles
What about role playing and dressing up
Does she wear uniforms of cotton or serge?
And do you dress as a centurion
Or a gladiator
Do you play doctors and nurses?
Or vicars and tarts Master and slave
Butler and parlor maid
Teacher and pupil
Acting out fantasies of filth
Do you do it wearing a hat?
In German helmet and jack boots
Cross dressing perhaps
In a pencil skirt or floral dress
Leather goods or latex or pace
What about toys or sexual aids
No let’s not go there
What about swinging do you fancy that?
Arriving in a Porsche and going home in a Passat
Does she need to be of a certain physical type?
To be of the right dimensions?
Or proportions
Tall and pencil thin
Or perhaps pear shaped or round
An hour glass figure
Or a stick thin anorexic
A particular color eyes
Hair, long, short or none at all
Blonde, brunette or red
Body piercing?
A turn on? Or turn off?
Tattoo’s like wise
Do you like your beaver wild or tamed?
Does a Brazilian look too much like you need a swipe card?
And if it looks like Adolph Hitler’s moustache do you care
When her breasts are released are they like airbags deploying
Or are they small and pert just enough for toying
Are you fussy about her appearance?
Or is a pulse all she needs
Perhaps you’re not even that fussy

Is she noisy when you’re on the nest?
Perhaps that’s what you like the best
Once she’s warmed up do you make her bellow?
So you have to turn her over and make her bite the pillow?
What about location does it matter where it’s done
Do you like it to be a public place?
When she’s sitting on your face
Do you like it al fresco in the woods or maybe the park
Or does a dog sniffing your bum put you off your stroke
At someone’s party under a pile of coats
At the cinema or theatre
Out back in a dark alley way
In the car? We’ve all done it there
All around the house in the bathroom and on the stair
Well you can do it in the hall or on the kitchen table
Even on the toilet if she doesn’t care
It doesn’t matter what you do to ring each others bell
Or where you ring it bloody hell
Just as long as all party’s are willing and able
That’s the best thing of all and the most important
And the most exiting when she tells you yes

October252010

In the deep dark of the nightmy heart dreams still of you,my body writhing, missing your touch.I avoid the light, yet cannotescape the power of your loveas it pierces the darkness inside.You walk in the sun, I by the moon,but we came together onceand I cannot forget.I knew my fate when your eyesflicked back to mine, and I gazeddown at you. I felt the poweryou would wield over meand I did not resist.Now you are my life and my death.I love you, cannot have you.I need you, cannot leave you.Existing between you and death,between eternal love and damnation,I dream of you and find no peacein the stillness of the dark.

Chemistry 101

In a room stripped clean of furnishingsAnd the two of us stripped clean Of clothes and caution Pour cool drinks and mix in good musicThen like Gerbils in a wheelLet us power the worldWith the lemon sharp electricityCrackling in the heavy air -Sparking between us like Fireflies in flight.

A single kiss and I’ll fall into youMy head dizzy with desireIn this solitary room built for two Blood surges through our veins,Throbbing in a shared rhythm.Your eyes that paralyze Set my heavenly body in motion.In an instant, like the flip of a switchThe hunger ignites usAnd then reunites usOnce again in its fiery dance.

A searching glance recalls this memory Of your lingering touch not yet felt, So lightly landed, with shivers afireExploding and exploring the raw voltage of our dance.And, we have danced this volcanic tangoMany times before, haven’t we, love?Yet time after time, all is newly familiar.

Cool air on our skin and the sweat of Cool cocktails on our palmsCooling our fingers and cooling our tonguesCool music floating through the air, Adding melodic punctuation to our freefall ballet.

In this world with electricity enough For the many worlds beyond usThere are no glaciers near or large enoughTo quench or quell the intensity of this inferno.Face it my pet, there is just simply no way To cool the heatThat lives in this worldBetween us.

October192010

And the muddy waters have washed over me,coating my large wings with soot, clouding my eyes,and the raging blood has coursed through my veins,flooding the flatlands of virtue and decency,ravaging the structures, inundating the houses,shattering the windows, and I have grown heavywith my deeds, and light with desire,been betrayer and betrayed, wounder and wounded,taken my turn at whatever was possible,bad father good father infidel satyr,been decent, forgiving, tender, wounding,whoremonger exile patriot rake.I have shaken the birches, made love under the sycamore, wept beneath the willow, I have trembled with desirebeside the mock orange (What good am Ito anyone, I ask, if I’m not goodto myself? Why pray to an invisible Godif I can’t please the beckoning flesh?)And what more can a man ask of his bodybut that it confess to everything? Sad bird, this human one, but happy in exile: a confusion of tongues, a mottle of trembling needs,the dust still gathering on these broken wings—the darkness, the hunger, the flickering soot.

August082010

June192010

Kuroda Saburo

I am completely different.Though I am wearing the same tie as yesterday,am as poor as yesterday,as good for nothing as yesterday,todayI am completely different.Though I am wearing the same clothes,am as drunk as yesterday,living as clumsily as yesterday, neverthelesstodayI am completely different..Ah …I patiently close my eyeson all the grins and smirkson all the twisted smiles and horse laughs—-and glimpse then, inside meone beautiful white butterflyfluttering towards tomorrow.

Kuroda Saburo, (translated by James Kirkup, Burning Girraffes: Modern and Contemporary Japanese Poetry)

Temptation

Nina Casian

Temptation

Call yourself alive? Look, I promise youthat for the first time you’ll feel your pores openinglike fish mouths, and you’ll actually be able to hearyour blood surging though all those lanes,and you’ll feel light gliding across the cornealike the train of a dress. For the first timeyou’ll be aware of gravitylike a thorn in your heel,and your shoulder blades will ache for want of wings.Call yourself alive? I promise youyou’ll be deafened by dust falling on the furniture,you’ll feel your eyebrows turning into two gashes,and every memory you have – will begina Genesis.

June142010

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love
And let us count the comments of censuring old men as one copper
Suns are able to set and rise again
For us, when the brief light sets once and for all
There is an endless night which must be slept through.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
Then another thousand, then a second hundred,
Then, constantly, another thousand, then a hundred,
Then, when we will have done that many thousands of times,
We will confuse the count, so that we (ourselves) don't know....

Your tongue, a snake's tongue, creeps into my mouth, my dreams..
it does something to me, hypnotic, it entrances and waylays me..
I feel it in my sleep, in my skin and in the beating of my heart.
Your heart, it is an ocean for me to cross on a broken raft.
It pulls me under, deeper and deeper.

Lying in me, as though it were a white Stone in the depths of a well, is one Memory that I cannot, will not, fight: It is happiness, and it is pain. Anyone looking straight into my eyes Could not help seeing it, and could not fail To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet Than if he were listening to some tragic tale.

I know the gods changed people into things, Leaving their consciousness alive and free. To keep alive the wonder of suffering, You have been metamorphosed into me.

I am going to the marketPlease wait till I come backYou can wash your clothes if you get boredAnd if the door disturbs youTake it offAnd put anything in its placePlease don't leave your face inside the mirrorAnd then quit by the windowDon't commit suicide as is your habit

May292010

So many stones have been thrown at me,That I'm not frightened of them anymore,And the pit has become a solid tower,Tall among tall towers.I thank the builders,May care and sadness pass them by.From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,Here the sun's last ray rejoices.And into the windows of my roomThe northern breezes often fly.And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...As for my unfinished page,The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calmAnd delicate, will finish it.